


Ginger Snap

by tebtosca



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Jensen/OCs - Freeform, Kid Fic, M/M, Nanny Jared, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles is a true man's man. Writer of the popular column "The Alpha Way", Jensen is more familiar with champagne and caviar than with diapers and dolls. So when a child - his child - is unexpectedly dropped into his life, he's completely out of his element.</p><p>Enter Jared "So-Not-a-Manny" Padalecki, who ends up bringing more to Jensen's life than just his baby know-how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ginger Snap

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN-Meanttobe with art by the AMAZING lightthesparks. Check out her [ART MASTERPOST!](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/114038.html)
> 
> Note: I have never posted a WIP before, but I have been suffering from some Grade-A writer's block over the past few months and want to keep myself in the motivated groove now that I have found a bit of my lost mojo again. The whole story is planned out and another part will be up soon -- hope you guys enjoy the ride with me!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

“Hey there, Ackles.”

_Ugh._

Jensen looks up from where his head is lying on his desk, with one eye squinted shut from lack of sleep and an even more egregious lack of coffee.

“Amell. To what do I owe the pleasure of your protruding brow at this time of the morning?”

Amell’s face makes what Jensen assumes is supposed to be a smirk but ends up looking more like a nervous tic. “Editorial meeting in five, unless you want to miss it and have Ruth toss your ass to the curb. All the better for me.”

Jensen sighs loudly in protest and pulls himself to his feet. He _did_ forget that their boss is holding a meeting with all the section heads for the paper, but Amell doesn’t need to know that. Dude is already gunning for Jensen’s job like the thirsty douchebag that he is. 

“Stephen, _dear friend,_ ” Jensen says, voice as condescending as possible just to see Amell’s cheek twitch. “Thank you for the reminder, but I would never miss a word from our esteemed Editrix.”

Amell snorts, his usual comeback, before heading off the way he came.

Jensen smirks, pulling a pair of aviators out of his drawer to slip over his eyes to shield him from the too-bright translucent shit they have hanging overhead and starting towards Ruth’s conference room.

Ruth’s assistant Felicia is standing right outside the door like a Roman centurion, bright red hair curled to bob perfection around the face that immediately wears a pinched expression when she spots him.

“Morning, babe,” Jensen greets her, just to see her grit her teeth.

“Don’t call me babe.”

“I’ll take a grande triple shot, one brown sugar. Thanks, hon.”

“I will murder you in your sleep one day.”

“You are so hot for me, Miss Day.”

Jensen winks at her one last time before pushing open the glass door and checking out the scene. 

Amell is there first, of course, right to the left of Ruth’s chair like the ass-kissing punk he is. 

Malik, the Headlines editor, is on the other side of Ruth’s chair, typing vigorously on his laptop.

Danneel, Beauty and Fashion editor and Jensen’s only real compatriot, sits filing her nails with a bored expression. She glances up and blows him a kiss that he pretends to catch with a smirk.

Mark, the Food and Wine editor, is deep in conversation with Amanda, the Theater and Film editor and they don’t even acknowledge his entrance.

Osric, the Music editor, is doing something on an iPad and smiling to himself, which is creepy but usual for the guy so Jensen ignores him and flops down in the chair closest to the door before propping his feet up on the glass table.

Jensen is technically the Lifestyle editor, but everyone knows that his only real job is writing the paper’s number one column both in print and online, “The Alpha Way.” As long as he keeps the readers hanging on his every delightfully debauched word, he can keep the jackals from the Sports section-- cough, _Amell,_ cough--from moving into his territory.

Only moments later, Felicia marches primly into the room, which means that Ruth Connell, editor-in-chief of The Daily Insider, can’t be far behind her.

Sure enough, her lilting Scottish accent is telling Jensen off in no time.

“Jensen, poppet, get your feet off my table or I’ll have Stephen cut them off and serve them to me on a platter for supper.” 

“Ah, Ruthie, you know I need all my appendages to keep you in business.”

“No, dearest, all I need you to have in order for you to produce for me is usable wobbly bits and a working voice recorder. Feet, off, _now_.”

Amell’s smug face manages an alternate facial expression and Jensen hisses back at him from across the table, with as much teeth as he can manage with his hangover.

He does, however, take his feet down off the table and sit up a bit more as she heads towards the front of the table to take her seat.

Ruth looks at him with a rise of one perfect eyebrow and one half of her mouth curved up, which Jensen knows means that she forgives him his trespasses, as usual.

Ruth wastes no time launching into business, and between the lilt of her voice and the fact that his head is pounding from the VIP club launch he was at until 3am, he manages to zone out. Luckily, the sunglasses he’s wearing manage to shield the fact that his eyelids decide to reintroduce themselves to each other and close completely.

Or maybe not so luckily.

“Are we disturbing your beauty sleep, love? Do we need to get you some fresh cucumbers for those under-eye circles?” Ruth’s voice is scathing yet lyrical all at the same time, a particular talent of hers.

Snickers rise up around the room and Jensen sees that even Danneel is joining in, the traitor.

“Look,” Jensen says, leaning forward and slipping the glasses off to look Ruth in the eye. “Last night I interviewed the Sotheby’s rep in town for the Patek auction while drinking Grey Goose out of Prince Harry’s bellybutton and banging the new face of Marc Jacobs in a rather tiny bathroom stall. I’m exhausted, my dick hurts, and I still have wiry ginger hair in my teeth, so for the love of all things holy, let me go home and sleep so I can then get up and write the best fucking column you’ve read in months, if not this year.”

Jensen knows he’s won when he can actually see the delighted shiver run through Ruth’s entire tiny body. 

“Right,” Jensen continues, with a triumphant nod. He stands up, slips his sunglasses back on and throws a salute out to the table. Danneel is barely managing to hold back her laughter, Felicia is glaring at him with enough loathing to power a small city, and Amell has turned the very color of his seething jealousy.

All in all, a pretty good morning.

==

“Bed,” Jensen grunts, starring lasciviously at his California King before stripping off as much clothing as he can muster before passing out face down in the rumpled sheets.

He’s woken up hours later by an obnoxious sound that he’s not used to, grunting again and rolling onto his back, thanking God for blackout curtains.

The sound blares again and Jensen realizes through his sleep haze that it’s the doorbell buzzer. 

“Who the fuck?” he mutters, literally rolling himself out of the bed and stumbling to his feet. He opens up the bedroom door and is assaulted by the too-bright light from the rest of the house. He slaps at his head a few times and hums happily when he discovers his sunglasses still attached crookedly to his head.

The buzzer is sounding again and Jensen tries to mentally prepare the speech for whoever is interrupting his much-needed naptime. He remembers the last time someone rang his doorbell like that – those sweet little Mormon missionary boys didn’t know what hit them, but they sure ended up blushing real pretty when they figured out they _liked_ it.

There’s a lewd grin on Jensen’s face as he pulls open the front door.

And sees an older black lady with an unimpressed expression and, wait, is that a baby balancing on her hip?

So, no Mormon cuties. Jehovah’s Witness then.

The woman looks down the length of Jensen’s body, unimpressed turning swiftly into unamused. Jensen looks down at himself and realizes that besides his sunglasses, he’s pretty much only wearing a pair of silk boxers and a single sock.

He gives her a grin and a naked pec flex because, hey, Jehovah, Joseph Smith, potato, _potahto._ A charming brush-off works regardless of deity.

“Can I help—“

“Jensen Ackles?” she interrupts, lifting her eyebrows. 

“How do you…” he asks, confused and a little nauseous from the movement of her bouncing the kid. 

“I’m Ms. Devine with Child Protective Services, and this precious little nugget is your daughter Ginger. May we come in? Thank you,” the woman announces, unceremoniously barging past him and entering the foyer of his house.

“Wait -- _what?_ ” Jensen says, making what is likely a rather undignified squeaking noise.

Ms. Devine turns to look at him again, face schooled. “That’s right, your daughter. Her mother Alaina sadly passed away in a tragic accident and according to the birth certificate and a DNA test that was procured around the time of birth, you are the next of kin. “

“But. That. What. Huh.” Jensen stares at her dumbfounded through his sunglasses.

“Welcome to fatherhood, Mr. Ackles. If you’d like to put a shirt on, we’ll wait.”

“I.”

The sunglasses fall off his face and hit the floor, the sound causing the baby – his baby, _his baby??_ \-- to clap her hands in what is either delight or indigestion.

“Shirt, Mr. Ackles,” Ms. Devine repeats, expression tipping over into an amusement that Jensen most definitely does not feel himself.

“Right. Shirt.” Jensen swears that one day he’ll figure out how to speak in full sentences, but it’s probably not going to be right then. He rushes into the living room and grabs a t-shirt from where it’s strewn over one of the nearest chairs.

He turns around and sees that Ms. Devine has followed him in, sitting herself down in the middle of his leather couch and situating the baby on her lap. 

“Take a seat, Mr. Ackles,” Ms. Devine says, and Jensen doesn’t know who the fuck this woman is, but he does what she says anyway and plops himself down in the chair opposite the couch.

“Look, Ms. Devine, I think there has been some sort of huge mistake,” he starts, taking a deep breath and trying not to look at the little girl in front of him as she attempts to get her entire fist in her mouth.

“Did you have an intimate relationship with Alaina Huffman a little over two years ago?” 

_Alaina,_ Jensen thinks, remembering the circus that was in town for three weeks and a comely contortionist who looked incredible with her long legs over his shoulders. 

“Alaina, well, I mean sure. But I wouldn’t exactly call it a relationship,” Jensen replies, chuckling once before shutting up quick at the withering stare Ms. Devine gives him.

“Well, Mr. Ackles, whatever you want to call it, that _encounter_ produced this little girl. Ms. Huffman had no other family and as the child’s father, you are now her legal guardian. We’ll finalize all the paper work in a few days but for right now, it’s five o’clock and my work day is done.”

She stands up, places the baby in the middle of the couch and sets the bag she’d been carrying next to her. Ms. Devine pulls out a stuffed giraffe and places it gently in the child’s arms before brushing a finger across her cheek. “You be good now for your daddy, Miss Gingersnap.”

Jensen looks at Ms. Devine with wild eyes as she starts heading back towards the front door.

“What are you doing? You can’t just leave a baby with me! You don’t even know me - I could be an ax murderer!”

“Mr. Ackles, we’ve done a thorough background check on you, so if you _are_ an ax murderer, this is your time to repent,” Ms. Devine replies, with a wink.

“Wait, don’t wink at me! You can’t – wait—this is illegal! You can’t, I’m not, I won’t!”

Ms. Devine gives him the first sympathetic look of the day, and pulls a card out of her jacket pocket. “Call this number. I promise they can help you figure out what to do while you get situated.”

Jensen takes the card numbly, staring down at the tiny neat black type that says “The Collins Center” with a phone number underneath it.

Ms. Devine pats his arm once before heading out the door. “And you might want to get back in there before Ginger gets going. She’s starting to walk now and that coffee table of yours is a little too pointy.”

Jensen makes a panicked noise before running back into the living room and almost tripping over his own one-socked feet. Sure enough, the kid is attempting to flee the couch head-first. He heads over to right her before she kills herself and they arrest him for child neglect and other such horrible things because, oh God, he’s too pretty for prison, and what the _fuck_.

The minute he puts a finger on her, she bursts into hysterical wailing tears.

_Of course._

He makes it about four seconds before he’s grabbing his iPhone and dialing the number on the stark white card stock.

 

“Dude, you _have_ to get off my couch. My microfiber is starting to smell like corn ships and despair.”

Jared peers out of the blanket burrito he has bundled himself up in for the eighth day running and takes in his best friend’s exasperated face. “But Chad—“

“No but Chad, no Chad’s butt – hey, stop looking at my butt!” Jared snorts and Chad grins. “See, there’s the Paddywack I know and have mild but not at all homosexual affection for.”

With great effort, Jared manages to wiggle himself into a sitting position, allowing Chad to flop down next to him. “I’m sorry I’m such a downer, and you’ve been awesome letting me crash here.”

“ _Yes,_ I am awesome, and _yes,_ you are a bit of a downer, but you just need a kick in the ass, that’s all. You need to get over Old Man Douchenozzle.”

“Jeff wasn’t _that_ old,” Jared mumbles, and Chad makes a rude noise.

“I can’t believe you are still defending that asshole after what he did to you.”

Jared cringes. It’s bad enough that he spent two years thinking he was going to spend the rest of his life with a man that turned out to be married, and to a _woman_ no less, but having to hear his best friend repeat his stupidity out loud is nearly unbearable.

Chad sees the movement and shakes his head. “Look, Jaybird, you are my brother from another mother, and I’ll always be the first in line to support you, but letting that dick continue to fuck you up isn’t good for anyone involved. It’s bad enough you quit school because of him –“

“Chad—“

Chad waves his hand to shut him up. “And yes, I know he was your professor, but you were so close to getting your degree and I hate that he fucked that up for you. Early Education was always your dream, and you’re so good with kids.”

“I wanted Jeff’s kids,” Jared says miserably. 

Chad turns just enough to get a good smack to the back of Jared’s head.

“Ow!”

“And Jeff already had kids. _With his wife,_ you idiot.”

“Fuck you, Chad,” Jared replies, with no heat behind it. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be thanking me soon, because I already have a plan.”

Jared eyes him suspiciously, rubbing his head. “This conversation has taken a dark turn.”

“I found you a job.”

“You _what_?”

“A job. Remember Genevieve, that hottie with a body that always comes into the shop? I told you about her, I mean, with an ass like that.”

“I still can’t believe you own a holistic medicine store. You consume more pork than Food Network during barbeque week.”

“Yeah, yeah, you are just consumed with envy at my ability to sucker people into buying shit they don’t need,” Chad says with a smirk before getting back to business. “So anyway, turns out this Genevieve chick is married to some child psychologist dude and they own some center that places child caregivers in homes.”

Jared stares at him incredulously. “You want me to be a nanny?”

“I think the clinical term is ‘manny’, but yes. Yes, I do.”

“Chad,” Jared whines, trying to pull the burrito back up around him, but Chad won’t let him.

“Dude, you have six younger siblings and an almost-degree in this shit. You got this.”

Jared takes a deep breath and stares down at the week old UT sweats he’s wearing. “Fine, okay, yeah. Let’s do it. When is my interview?”

Chad jumps up, seemingly satisfied that his devious plotting to get Jared upright has worked. “Great – it’s in an hour.”

_“Chad!”_

“Shower, bro, you reek,” Chad insists with a smug grin. “And wear the pink shirt.”

“I’m not wearing the pink shirt.”

Chad just laughs.

==

Okay, so Jared is totally wearing the pink shirt. To be fair, it’s a nice shirt, all stripy and with buttons and shit. 

Very professional. Spring-flavored. Peppy. Ready to nurture small children and not think about your loser ex-boyfriend who was cheating on you but not really because he was married, the bearded bastard.

Jared stares at the front door of The Collins Center and takes a deep breath. It’s not even losing Jeff that he’s upset about – if he’s being honest with himself, the flame of their relationship had burned out months ago. Instead, it was the idea that he let himself be _played_ like that, and for so long. Thinking of all the people who lied to him, who kept Jeff’s secret….

Jared shakes his head again, trying to wipe away the betrayal and the burn of how _stupid_ he feels about the whole mess. He vows for the hundredth time that week that he’ll never let anyone take advantage of him like that ever again.

He gathers himself, pushing open the door of the center and taking in the waiting room, painted in a cheery yellow color with child-friendly designs on the wall. A small play area sits in one corner, including a mini-slide, kitchenette set, and stacks of blocks. It’s rather charming, and Jared relaxes just enough.

That lasts until he gets to the front desk and goes to check in with the receptionist. He looks down at the name plate with “Cindy” written on it, and then back at the person actually sitting at the desk – a thirty-something man with dark brown bedhead and striking blue eyes.

“Cindy?” Jared asks slowly, and the man cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Do I look like a Cindy?” the man asks, voice eerily calm and modulated.

Jared looks back at him, matching his gaze. “Not really, but I would never begrudge you your identity.”

The man’s entire face lights up into a bright smile and Jared thinks he might have passed the first phase of the job interview. The man stands up and thrusts him hand out at Jared, who returns the smile and shakes it.

“Misha ‘Not Cindy’ Collins. Very nice to meet you, Jared. Our lovely receptionist is out getting Starbucks because my wife turns into a demon if she doesn’t get her late afternoon Chai. ”

“I heard that, husband,” calls out a sardonic female voice. Jared turns to see where it’s coming from and is met with a tiny brunette with a long dark ponytail and big smile. She reaches out to shake Jared’s hand, and her grip is firm. “Genevieve Collins, nice to meet you.”

“Jared Padalecki, likewise,” he replies, returning her smile. It’s probably the most genuinely warm feeling he’s had since his recent descent into cynicism, and it’s a nice change of pace. 

“Come on in to my office so we can talk,” she says, motioning towards a door behind the desk. She pats her husband on the head as she starts walking away, and Misha nuzzles into it.

Okay, maybe there is a pang in the warm feeling, Jared thinks as he watches their affection. The slightest tinge of something that might be loneliness. Jared pushes it down, way down, and follows Genevieve into her office.

She sits behind a giant wooden desk that is bigger than she is and props her elbows up onto it. She smiles at him again, and the warmth comes instantly back. “So, Jared, it’s great to meet you. Chad’s talked a lot about you.”

Jared raises an eyebrow at that. “Has he now?”

Her smile turns into more of a smirk. “All good things, don’t worry. He gave me your resume and told me that you were taking a work study break before getting your Early Education degree.”

“Oh, that…that’s good then,” Jared replies, trying to figure out where the hell Chad got his resume, and realizing that Chad probably _wrote_ it himself. 

“He also said you have _six_ younger siblings, which sure is something nowadays. You’re not a Duggar by any chance, are you?” Genevieve asks, eyes amused.

Jared chuckles. “No, my parents are just Polish Catholics who really dug each other.”

She laughs, nodding her head. “Alright, so we’ve already run the background check based on your availability and you look like you would be a good candidate for a position with us. Are you interested in live-in child care work or live-out? We also have programs to place caregivers with special needs children, if that is something you are interested in training for.”

Genevieve pulls some pamphlets out of her desk and opens them before sliding them across the desk at him. She starts explaining the various programs that the Center are involved in, from the point of view of the parents as well as the caregivers themselves.

Jared is a little overwhelmed, but the passion in her voice is getting him excited for the first time in months. And from the sounds of things, the level of study he could partake in at the Center is on the level of his college education, and more beneficial from the hands-on perspective. And, hey, if he has to be a nanny for a while, at least it’s a place to stay and some good experience.

They’ve been chatting for a good twenty minutes when the phone on Genevieve’s desk starts ringing. She excuses herself and picks it up, and the sound of a baby hysterically crying echoes loudly in the room from the receiver.

“Whoa,” she exclaims, instinctively holding the receiver away from her ear before bringing it back and talking calmly to whoever is on the line.

“Yes, I hear you. Oh, did she? Yes, Loretta is great. She what? She winked at you? Sir, calm down, everything will be just fine.”

From the frantic noises coming from the phone, Jared’s not too sure about that particular promise.

“Yes, sir, coffee tables _can_ be very pointy. No, sir, I’m sure your baby does not need an exorcism.”

Jared bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Sir, I’m not sure how the stuffed giraffe plays into the demon possession. Have you considered a diaper change instead?”

Okay, maybe one guffaw wouldn’t hurt.

Genevieve winks at him. “Yes, sir, that is usually what happens in a diaper.”

A minute later she is scribbling notes down on a pad of paper before finally putting the phone down completely. She looks at Jared with a hopeful expression, and he thinks he might know where this is going.

“So, Jared, how are you in emergency situations?”

“Are you asking me in general or about the phone call you just had?” he asks warily.

“Perceptive, I like that,” Genevieve responds brightly. “And, yes, absolutely regarding the phone call I just had.”

Jared hesitates just a moment before responding, thinking about what else he has scheduled to do today besides sit on Chad’s couch and cry. Realizing the answer to that is _nada_ , he replies with conviction. “If you have an emergency, I’m your man…ny.”

“Oh god, you’re such a dork. My husband is going to love you,” she replies with a delighted expression, clapping her hands twice, before ripping off the paper she was scribbling on and sliding it across the desk to him. 

He takes it and looks down at the name and address written on it in Genevieve’s neat handwriting.

_Jensen Ackles. 1967 Winchester Lane._

Jared looks up at her and swallows hard before pasting a smile on his face and standing up. 

Just before he hits the door, he hears one last question from Genevieve.

“By the way, you don’t have experience with exorcisms, do you? A little college Latin maybe?”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t have this.

==

Turns out this Jensen Ackles guys lives in what appears to be the most luxe part of town. Chad’s a business owner and doing pretty well for himself, but his house pales in comparison to the modern structure in front of Jared’s face as he stands and prepares himself to ring the front door buzzer.

He’s barely taken his finger off the buzzer when a loud crashing sound comes from inside and a “Oh, thank fuck!” is heard before the door is pulled open to reveal the most gorgeous guy Jared’s ever seen in his entire _life._

“They sent me a freaking _manny?_ ” the guy huffs, his full pink mouth pulled into a grimace.

“That’s the clinical term, yes,” Jared replies.

Another crashing noise happens, followed by a burst of a baby wailing, and the guy’s big green eyes turn frantic. “Well, get in here, manny and make the demon stop crying!”

“The name’s Jared, actually. “ 

Jared rolls his eyes the minute the guy turns his back, but follows him in regardless, if only to save the “demon” child from its clueless father. He wonders what the story is behind this Jensen Ackles, but he figures that dealing with the hysterical child emergency is the first challenge, and exposition can come later.

The guy – Jensen – swirls around and Jared takes in what he missed before while he was staring at his cheekbones, namely the fact that the guy is wearing nothing but a Metallica shirt, a pair of boxers, and, interestingly enough, only one sock. 

“Manny—“

“Jared.”

“Right, Jared. Can you make it stop?” Jensen’s expression is one of wild panic, and Jared pointedly ignores how adorable the man looks with his sandy-colored spiked bed-head and flushed cheeks (and, oh shit, freckles, Jared get it _together_ ).

Another bout of wailing, and instead of responding, Jared brushes past him and into the living room to see the little person causing all the ruckus.

He’s met with the chubby round cheeks of a little girl, her hair bright red and curled up on top of her head. Her bright green eyes open wide the minute she sees him, and then she promptly stops crying all together.

And then proceeds to beam at him with her tiny baby-toothed smile.

That’s about the point when Jared Padalecki falls recklessly in love for only the second time in his twenty-three years.

“It stopped. How did you do that? Do you know Latin?”

Jared’s broken out of his daze by Jensen’s wonder-filled voice behind him. Jared just chuckles, and walks over to the baby, leaning down to scoop her up into his arms. She throws her chubby hands up and starts smacking them against Jared’s face with delight.

“What’s your name, babycakes?” Jared asks the little girl, who just squeals and smacks him harder.

“Ginger. Um, her name’s Ginger.” 

Jared glances at the baby’s red curls and then back at Jensen, with a smirk. “A little on-the-nose, aren’t we?”

Jensen shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the socked foot against the bare one. “I wouldn’t know, I had nothing to do with naming her.”

Jared notes how Jensen keeps sneaking glances at Ginger and then away again, and files it for later. “She looks around thirteen months, fourteen maybe?”

“I don’t know.” Jensen’s biting his bottom lip now, and Jared tries to ignore it.

“Okay, has she had a check-up recently? She was rubbing her ear when I walked in, so she could have a bit of an infection.”

“I don’t know,” Jensen repeats, frustration evident in his voice.

Jared bounces the baby in his arms and inhales deeply to make sure it’s not a diaper change that was making her cry so hard. Everything checks out, and Jared suspects it’s the abject fear radiating off of Jensen that was causing her hysteria.

“Look,” Jensen starts, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his otherwise perfect face. “They are telling me this is my kid, but I didn’t even know she existed until an hour ago. They dumped her on me and she wouldn’t stop crying and, seriously, I don’t know what I’m doing here, so can you just, I don’t know, keep doing whatever Baby Whisperer shit you are doing until I can get this mess figured out? I have money, I can pay you whatever you want.”

Ginger giggles and face-plants into Jared’s neck, and Jared drops a kiss on the top of her head with a chuckle. He sees Jensen’s eyes follow the action, and can’t miss the bobbing of the man’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“First of all, she’s a baby, and they are messy, but she’s not a mess,” Jared says, and Jensen has the grace to look a little shame-faced at that. 

Jared softens a bit as Ginger coos in his arms. “I’m sure there are a lot of things that need to be worked out, on your end and mine, but for the time being, I’ll be happy to help you take care of this little one.”

Jared can see the near audible relief pass through Jensen’s boxers-clad body. 

“That’s great, thank you. I’m sure it’ll get worked out soon and we can all put this behind us.”

Jared looks at Ginger’s sweet round face, her eyes shining glass-green. Something in him aches suddenly, a little tug that he knows can be dangerous. He can’t keep the words from leaving his mouth as he says, “Don’t you want her?”

He looks up at Jensen, who is staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, his mouth hanging slightly open. It’s remarkable just how much he resembles the little girl in Jared’s arms, but Jared doesn’t say that part.

“I don’t know how to be a father,” Jensen admits, his voice the softest it’s been since Jared walked through the door.

Jared just smiles at the honest answer, and nods his head, agreeing silently.

He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, but he definitely has his work cut out for him on this one.

 

** End of Part One **


End file.
